


peace beneath the city

by unveils



Series: couldn't get the boy to kill me [1]
Category: DCU (Comics), Hellblazer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 06:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11823309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unveils/pseuds/unveils
Summary: “Your boy’s got moves, Constantine.”





	peace beneath the city

**Author's Note:**

> for more verse context (that ill eventually get around to adding into an Origin Story(tm) fic): jason never met bruce, grew up as a street kid and met john outside the vigilante community.

The fight starts like John supposes most do in Gotham bars -- some drunkard off his arse going on about queers in tights and looking for something to hit.

John makes sure he really earns the punch, drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. He’s not drunk enough to think he won’t regret it in the morning, but out in the alley, whistling the intro to Pale Blue Eyes with a split lip and a black eye, he doesn’t regret a damn thing.

Jason’s a fighter -- he’s the kind you can spot a mile away, scrapper built into a bruiser by continued use of muscle. He takes one look at John’s busted up face and grins, sits him down at his kitchen table next to a half eaten bowl of Froot Loops and grabs a bag of frozen peas and some butterfly bandages from some shelf.

“You do this often, then?” John asks, as Jason sticks a strip to his eyebrow where it’s still bleeding. Jason shrugs for it, face too honest and open as it always is. “You grow up in Crime Alley, you learn your shit.”

John’s quick to strike down the pity where it starts to spool in his chest because they’ve all got some sob story, and his ain’t that pretty either.

“Y’know, could’ve managed on my own if I wanted.” Jason doesn’t look up, but snorts for the way it’s obviously not true, and John pulls a cigarette from the pack half-crushed inside his jacket pocket. “Was in town and wanted to see your pretty face s’all.”

“Pretty, huh.” Jason echoes, soft, dabbing at John’s lip where it’s fat and bruised. “Well, I’m real fuckin’ honored. Who’d you piss off this bad on a Tuesday night anyway?”

John pulls the unlit cigarette from his mouth, presses a kiss to Jason’s thumb instead. Jason snorts, pulls his thumb away before John can turn the tables. “You fight _demons_ but you can’t take a punch?”

John shrugs. “We’ve all got our strengths. Mine’s usually in dumpster-diving ancient magic and finding the nearest exit in a pinch when things get dodgy.” He pauses. “Sometimes I'm helpful for lighting shite on fire, too.”

Jason sighs, moves to settle himself on John’s lap just rough and heavy enough to make him wince for it.

“Careful, sweetheart. If you wanted to bust me up a little more, all you had to do was ask.”

Jason laughs, pressing a kiss to the bruise blooming underneath John’s eye. John’s chest sparks with something warm and comfortable.

“You know what I think? I think you need someone to watch your back so you don’t lose it.”

John thinks of all the people he’s lost -- all the ghosts that wisp through the kitchen behind Jason as a reminder -- all the people he’s hurt, and all the people he’s going to hurt.

He won’t hurt Jason. Jason’s better than that.

Hell, Jason’s better than John period.

He snorts, reaching up to curl a finger in Jason’s hair.

“Love, in my line of work, it’s better to lose one back than two.”

Jason grabs John’s hand, presses a kiss to his bruised knuckles.

“C’mon, old man, just gimme a shot.”

And John’s always been a sucker for a boy with a sweet smile.

For just a moment, the ghosts in the back go silent.

 

\--

 

It’s a favor from Zee, because she’s the only one in the vigilante community who really cares enough about doing him any.

Dinah Lance looks approximately 12 feet tall in her Canary get up, spiked boots and fishnets and tits for miles. She doesn’t look pleased to see John, arms crossed as Jason suits up for the boxing ring.

“Alright, Constantine, let’s get this one thing straight.” Her voice is low. “I don’t do sidekicks, and this isn’t gonna be a daycare for your boytoy. I’ll teach him what I can, but you better thank your lucky stars for Zatanna Zatara.”

For all her talk, she’s sweet with Jason -- always has been, with kids; Dinah’s more motherly than she knows. She starts slow but picks it up quick when she realizes he’s been in more than one fight. Corrects his moves when they’re sloppy, shows him how to do more damage with a few sleights of hand.

After about two hours, she smacks Jason on the shoulder with a grin. John can’t hear what she’s telling him, but she looks pleased. Proud, maybe.

As she makes her way over to John, she’s still wearing her grin -- too friendly to be for him.

“Your boy’s got moves, Constantine.”

And that’s enough to get John grinning. It’s a bad idea, it’s a shit idea, it’s a fucking nightmare of an idea that’s going to get Jason killed, or worse, but --

Dinah elbows him in the ribs at the look he must have on his face, eyebrows pinching together.

“Just make sure to take care of each other, alright? God knows you’re not gonna take care of yourself.”

Jason makes his way back in a Wonder Woman t-shirt, smiling wide at Dinah. “Same time next week, Blondie?”

Dinah laughs, hearty. “Only if you watch that mouth of yours, kid. I can still put you over my knee, you know.”

Jason smiles. 

"Promises, promises."


End file.
